


Never Look a Gift Pair of Panties in the Crotch

by thecheekydragon



Series: Intimate Apparel [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is an awkward werewolf, Lydia is a fashion diva, M/M, Other, POV Stiles, brooding wolf of scowldom, colour wheel correctness, conscious subconscious, intimate apparel, leap-frogging thoughts, masturbation is healthy, matching camisole required, mocking lingerie, purple panties, social skills of a slug, women's silk undergarments are no joking matter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecheekydragon/pseuds/thecheekydragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles absolutely does not ponder why Derek Hale would buy him a pair of women's silk panties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Look a Gift Pair of Panties in the Crotch

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [Apres Nuit](http://archiveofourown.org/works/636009)

**  
Lydia finally showed up, just missing Derek by about two minutes, for which Stiles was never more grateful.

After doling out forty-two dollars plus tax for the light amethyst (Stiles still maintained they were lavender) silk panties, Derek had thrust the little tissue-stuffed boutique bag at Stiles then had fled the scene like a bank robber making a quick getaway. He hadn’t even stuck around long enough to hear Stiles squeak out an awkward but totally manly “thanks”.

Lydia huffed out something about incompetent sales managers who couldn’t do basic math and was about to unload her bags and purse onto loyal lackey Stiles when something seemed to catch her attention and she stopped abruptly.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing a lacquered red fingernail at the bag Stiles was still clutching to his chest.

“This?” he said, slipping a finger through the ribbon handles and holding the bag up. “Oh, it’s, uh...a gift,” he elaborated vaguely.

Lydia’s eyebrows furrowed then lifted. “For who?” 

Stiles realized that Lydia had understood that it was gift he had bought for someone rather than a gift someone had bought for him. And, well, it was awkward enough that he was now a proud owner of a pair of women’s silk panties in a lovely shade of purple without adding the extra (and embarrassing) detail that the reason for said ownership was due to the unexpected (and maybe a little creepy) generosity of everyone’s favourite (okay, that was debatable) werewolf, Derek Hale. 

“Uh...my dad,” he replied.

Yeah. He really needed to stop saying the first thing that popped into his head.

Lydia blinked at him and Stiles was able to appreciate the length of her lushly painted eyelashes. “Your _dad_?”

“Um, yeah,” Stiles said. He was already in for a penny.

Lydia blinked some more. “Why on earth,” she began, setting her bags down on the floor, “would you buy your dad,” she plucked the bag out of Stiles’ hand and rifled through the tissue paper to get to the contents, “a pair of silk,” she held up the bikini briefs between her fingertips, “panties? Which,” her eyebrows raised in appreciation, “are a _gorgeous_ shade of light amethyst, by the way.”

Freaking Derek and his colour wheel correctness.

“Gag gift?” he offered.

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him and tsked. “Women’s silk undergarments are no joking matter, Stiles.”

No kidding. Especially when Derek Hale just gifted you with a pair of silk panties.

“You’re going to need a camisole top to go with that,” Lydia decided, tapping a finger against her lip. She stalked purposefully toward the camisole display table. 

Wait. What?

Lydia began picking through the silk tops, tossing a comment over her shoulder, “And was that _Derek Hale_ I saw bolting out of here about two minutes ago?” 

Stiles let out a sigh. Fuck his life.

**

It wasn’t like Stiles was avoiding it.

Okay, so maybe he was – _subconsciously_.

Yeah. No. His avoidance was definitely a conscious thing. 

Because there was a pair of women’s silk panties (and matching camisole). In a bag. On his bed. In his room. Wrapped in tissue paper.

That Derek freaking Hale had bought him.

Which he had shelled an impressive forty-two bucks plus tax out for. (Lydia had shelled even more out for the camisole but they were talking Lydia here, who had her nails lacquered every two weeks.) 

So yeah, conscious, _deliberate_ avoidance was really the only sensible choice here.

And Stiles managed to avoid it for a full hour by tossing the little boutique bag onto his bed, firmly shutting his bedroom door, going to the kitchen to make himself a snack, eating said snack, flicking idly through channels on the TV, even wiping down the kitchen counters and polishing the sink and faucet before heading back up to his room to face the silk.

The boutique bag was right where he had tossed it. The tissue paper was being playful, peek-a-booing out from over the top of the bag, but Stiles wasn’t fooled. He knew it was judging him. Waiting to see how long it took before he manned up.

He snatched the bag up as he sat down on his bed, and drew the silk panties and camisole carefully out from the cushion of cream and rose tissue paper. He held the undergarments up in front of his face for closer inspection.

Had he really told Lydia that the panties were a gift for his _dad_? If that were the case, Stiles definitely would have chosen red or blue ones. Because purple? So not his dad’s colour. And, really, if he’d been looking to deflect, Stiles could have told Lydia the panties were a gift for a new girlfriend, or Allison (no, not Allison), or _Erica_ , or that cute girl who sits beside him in English. Or even _Scott_. Lydia maybe would have believed the panties were for Scott.

Yeah, probably not. Lydia was a smart girl. Besides, it turned out the usually adept-at-lurking werewolf had been spotted leaving the scene of the crime so...

Which brought Stiles back to the matter – or panties – in hand. Why exactly had Derek Hale, brooding wolf of Scowldom, bought him a pair of women’s silk underwear?

Stiles was pretty sure Derek had meant it as a joke but, as Lydia had asserted, women’s silk undergarments were no joking matter, especially when a guy couldn’t get a three-for-ten deal.

And what was with the whole gift-and-run? Stiles would have figured Derek to have at least stuck around for sixty seconds to maybe scoff or sneer at him or something. Of course Stiles would have preferred Derek had invited him out for coffee and a donut first before buying him _lingerie_ (because lingerie was intimate apparel with emphasis on _intimate_ ). But he supposed he was dealing with a werewolf with the social skills of a slug so Stiles understood his expectations might be a little high. 

He glanced down appreciatively at the silk undergarments in his hand. They _were_ a lovely shade of purple – light amethyst, lavender, whatever. The colour was rich yet subtle and Stiles could admit he was pleased that even the sour wolf thought the hue would enhance the golden brown of his eyes (though Stiles strongly suspected that Derek’s comment was simply the werewolf’s attempt at jest).

Stiles brought the camisole up to his face and stroked the silk fabric against his cheek. So smooth and soft. He could hear the fabric whispering to him, seductive and luring, like a Siren’s song.

His jeans were popped open and yanked down before Stiles had even caught up to his own pervy intentions. He set the camisole aside in favour of the panties, and gave his dick a few purposeful tugs. He wrapped the silk underwear around his hardening length then began to glide its supple softness along the shaft, slow and deliberate. 

_Oh that was niiiice._

As he glided the fabric along the length of his dick, Stiles thought about Lydia, who had figured prominently in his jerk-off fantasies up until a few months ago when Stiles had finally come to concede that the strawberry-blonde goddess was far better suited as a friend than as a hopeless crush. It didn’t mean, however, that thoughts of Lydia weren’t still occasional fodder for Stiles’ fantasies. Thinking of Lydia, though, somehow led to thinking about _Jackson_ – the guy had fantastic cheekbones, okay? And thinking about Jackson then led to thinking about _Danny_ (What? Danny was an attractive guy.)

Stiles might have been willing to blame his leap-frogging thoughts during masturbation on his ADHD but he knew it was really just a ploy on the part of his subconscious (but if he knew it, then wasn’t it more conscious than subconscious?) to avoid thinking of a certain someone who may or may not be an overbearing and perpetually sour alpha werewolf.

But, of course, his thoughts eventually went there. 

And when they did, the pace of his tugging quickened, the slide of silk becoming more frantic, desperate. Stiles had intended to draw his orgasm out slowly but thoughts of _Derek_ , fuelled by the feel of the silk panties _Derek had bought him_ wrapped around his hard and leaking cock sent Stiles careening over the edge. Orgasm hit him with a jolt, intense and blinding, causing his hips to jerk and then stutter as he shot his load over his stomach and his hand, warm jizz soaking into the panties, darkening the purple fabric.

Stiles stared up at the ceiling, dazed.

Wow. Just wow.

He laid there for the better part of ten minutes, not moving, his silk covered palm still cupping (and perhaps sticking a little) his now softened member. When he finally came back to his senses, he wiped the drying jizz from his stomach with the panties, pulled his jeans back up and headed to the bathroom for a more thorough post-jack clean up.

He was just rinsing out the soap when his dad – who forgot how unbelievably bad of an idea it was to barge spontaneously in on his teenage son anywhere in the house but especially Stiles’ bedroom and the bathroom – poked his head around the door. He looked at the sink where Stiles was holding the purple panties under the warm running tap water then looked at Stiles, one eyebrow quirking.

“Do I even _want_ to know?” his dad asked, his expression just on the side of pained.

“Yeah, no,” Stiles told him.

His dad shook his head then pulled the door closed. Stiles resumed his laundering, thinking it would probably be a good idea to start remembering to lock doors, if only to save himself and his dad these awkward father-son moments.

Stiles stuck his tongue out at the silk panties that were sneering silently at him from the sink.

**


End file.
